


The Times That Zagreus Got Killed By A Very Angry Man Who Was Also His Cousin

by EarthScorpion



Category: God of War (Video Games), Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Comedy, Do You Tag Major Character Death When It's Just Zagreus, Dysfunctional Family, Short Chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-12 02:15:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28752756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EarthScorpion/pseuds/EarthScorpion
Summary: Zagreus, Prince of the Underworld, is capable of polite conversation, emotional nuance, and resolving his problems through healthy communication. Kratos, the Ghost of Sparta, is capable of none of those things having min-maxed for all-consuming rage and a talent for murder.Zagreus is going to die a lot. But eh. He's used to it. That's just how things go when he tries to resolve family issues.
Comments: 16
Kudos: 190





	1. The First Time

Sing, o Muse, of Zagreus, son of Hades and prince of the Underworld, quarrelsome quixotic Zagreus doomed to die and return time and time again. Tell his story, and how in this moment he found himself pulling himself out of the blood-red river Styx, reborn into the lavishly morbid environs of the House of Hades.  
  
“New guy,” he said to himself, working out the cricks in his neck. As the poets said, death was but a sleep, and in his experience dying often left you feeling like you’d been lying in a really uncomfortable position. Possibly on top of something. Like a set of keys. “Doesn’t move like the rest of them. Ouch.”  
  
Limply, he flapped his wet clothing, and trailed Styx-water down the hall through which the dead entered the house of his father Hades. He was really feeling unpleasantly damp, and as usual, was drying from the soles of the feet upwards. He could really do with a wander through burning Asphodel right about now. You were never damp there. Unpleasantly hot, yes. Attacked by ferocious bone-hydras, yes. Occasionally on fire, yes. But not damp.  
  
Really, his father was very inconsiderate with the lack of provisions for the shades of the dead who pulled themselves from this place. Zagreus ought to do something about it. The benefits would be threefold; the dead would find their entrance to the House of Hades somewhat more pleasant, his father would complain less about puddles, and of course, it would help him dry out faster. Maybe a giant roaring fire. Or at the very least, some towels.  
  
His pondering had taken him down the broad corridor to where waited the god of Sleep. Hypnos, son of Nyx and brother to death - as well as Zagreus’s foster brother and one who he had for most of his life thought was his half-brother. He was, as usual, floating in mid air and asleep on the job. Perhaps it was because Hades was not at his desk, though in all honesty Hypnos had a bravery not known to most men and was willing to nap in front of the Lord of the Underworld, fobbing him off with feeble-yet-elaborate excuses.  
  
Honestly, Zagreus was more impressed by his foster-brother’s capability to sleep through Hades’ booming complaints. That took a real skill. And yet he somehow always managed to jolt awake when Zagreus tried to sneak past him, as he did just at that moment.  
  
“Oh! Hi! You’re back again!” Hypnos said brightly, his long and padded red cloak still wrapped tightly around him. He grabbed for his scrolls. “What killed you this time?”  
  
“I don’t want to talk about it.” This response had never worked, and proceeded to maintain its previous performance.  
  
“Wow, that looks really unfun,” Hypnos said helpfully. “Says here, the cause of death was eye-gouging. Thumbs straight into the eyes, and through them into the brain. Ouchie. Of all the last things you could see, a pair of thumbs is probably not all that great.”  
  
“Thank you for that,” Zagreus said, flinching with remembered pain. “It was someone new. Know anything about them?”  
  
“Says, uh,” Hypnos checked his scroll, “says it was the Ghost of Sparta.”  
  
“What’s a Sparta? Why’s that so special that he’s a ghost from there?”  
  
“Sparta is a city in Greece.”  
  
“Oh.” Zagreus frowned. “Does no one ever die there?”  
  
“Nope! I see a lot of Spartans! They tend to die a lot!”  
  
“So why is it special?”  
  
“I don’t know. It’s just what he’s called in the records. Not even a name. It’s redacted. Maybe he’s been… what’s the word? Oh, it’s on the tip of my tongue. It’s a really bad thing to do to someone. Taking away their name. Urgh, it’s all Latin to me.”  
  
Scooping his hair back, Zagreus shrugged. “Well, he must have done something to wind up down in Tartarus.”  
  
“Maybe he gouged out lots of other people’s eyes,” Hypnos suggested.  
  
“It _did_ feel like he had practice.” He closed his eyes, rubbing the lids. “Definitely felt practiced.”  
  
“Well, head on in. Your father’s seeing to something in the administrative chambers, so you might even be able to creep back to your room without him noticing. But maybe you don’t want to pass up the chance to talk to him.”  
  
“That’d be the day.”  
  
“Hey, don’t knock it. Him and his sharp remarks are the main way you two interact. You’re so lucky. Your dad will acknowledge your presence even when you haven’t mucked up! Though I guess in his eyes, you’re always mucking up! Wow, we’re so much alike!”  
  
“Thanks… thanks, Hypnos,” Zagreus said, wandering off. Maybe he’d go for a drink in the bar before heading out again.


	2. The Second Time

“You know,” Zagreus said to himself as he pulled himself out of the water, clearing out his ear with a fingertip, “I am going to get those towels. And then a fireplace.”  
  
“I heard that, boy!” his father called from the other end of the grand hallway. “You will not ruin the architecture of my house with your fripperies. Paid for, I might add, by your reckless plunder of my domain!”  
  
Rather than have a yelling match from the other end of a long corridor, which was a contest that Hades had an unfair advantage at due to considerably larger lung capacity, Zagreus decided to actually approach his old man.  
  
“Oh, the Ghost of Sparta again?” Hypnos asked as he passed. “Says here he picked you up and threw you into the Styx. Where you promptly drowned. Have you ever thought of swimming lessons?”  
  
Rather than dignify that display of Hypnos-ness, Zagreus just passed him. “You know, maybe you’d be in a better mood if people weren’t tracking Styx-water into your house.”  
  
“I would be in a better mood, _boy_ , if you gave up these foolish escape attempts, which invariably lead to your demise, and subsequent dripping approach through my halls. But you continue to disappoint me.”  
  
Zagreus considered whether to bring up that there were very few people who had the authority to redact the name of an individual in the records of the Underworld, but decided against it. For one, his conversation with his father had reached the usual point that occurred after a few sentences where no one was going to be getting anything productive out of things. And for two, his father wouldn’t know he was interested in who was this strange dust-white skinned man with red tattoos and a serious anger issue unless he asked him. Then he’d probably start getting in the way, if for no other reason than Zagreus wanted it.  
  
So rather than talk to his father any further, Zagreus instead patted three-headed Cerberus who dozed at his father’s side, then wandered the cavernous halls of the House of Hades until he came upon the shade of Achilles at his customary guard-post.  
  
“Welcome home, lad,” said his mentor. “Back already?”  
  
“Not really my choice.”  
  
“I hope you haven’t gotten sloppy out there.”  
  
“Trust me, sir, it hurts enough each time I die that I’m no real fan of doing this any more than I have to.” He fished at his belt, and offered Achilles a surreptitious unopened bottle of nectar that he had found lying around one of the bathhouses of Tartarus. “I’m sorry, this isn’t quite as altruistic a gift as other times,” he said, passing it over.  
  
“Oh?” The nectar had quickly vanished under his cloak. “If my student was giving me a contraband present, that would be pretty altruistic.”  
  
“Well, no.” Zagreus leaned against the wall next to Achilles, looking for eavesdropping shades. “You were Greek.”  
  
“Still am, at least by how I count it. I didn’t suddenly become Persian when I died.”  
  
“Do you know anything about Sparta?”  
  
“Sparta? Oh yes, lad, though I wish I did not. It was fighting the war of Meneleus, king of Sparta, that I met my end. And had I never heard of that city, I would have lived a much-different life.”  
  
“Really?” Zagreus perked up. “You don’t like to talk about the war. I didn’t know it was all for Sparta.”  
  
“Aye. Meneleus called us to fight for him, for the Trojan prince Paris had stolen away his wife - though even then, there were mutterings that she had left willingly. Meneleus, I can tell you, did not like such stories… and the rage of a Spartan is a terrible thing. Normally, you wouldn’t believe it. By their nature, they are the most laconic of men. But when that temper breaks, it’s like a storm wrapped up in the shape of a man.”  
  
Ah. “Yes. I think I experienced that,” Zagreus said wryly. “Tell me, sir, did you ever hear of the ‘Ghost of Sparta’? Not just… a ghost from Sparta, but enough that it’s a man’s title?”  
  
“The ghost of Sparta? I’m sorry to say I don’t recall anything specific by that name. What happened out there?”  
  
“Ran into a newcomer. He didn’t take a liking to me. But I’m pretty certain he’s not working for my father.”  
  
“Oh?”  
  
“The fact he was bellowing ‘Hades, you can’t keep me trapped down here! I will find you! I will get out of here if I have to kill you!’ was my first clue.”  
  
“That’s pretty good evidence,” Achilles conceded. “He didn’t want to talk to you?”  
  
“Well, the first time, I asked him what he was shouting about, and then he called me a ‘hellspawn’, said he wouldn’t fall for my tricks, and started attacking me. But he got even angrier when I tossed a blade storm at him. He started screaming about Ares. And then gouged out my eyes with his thumbs.”  
  
“Hmm.” Achilles stroked his chin. “Spartans always gave plenty of honour to Ares. They preferred him to Athena. I’m surprised he attacked you. I would have thought he’d stand down seeing that you were favoured by the boons of so respected a god.”  
  
“Well, he hasn’t forgiven me,” Zagreus said. “I saw him… oh, five minutes ago. He screamed about me being a servant of Ares, I told him to calm down, and offered to share a bottle of nectar with him. He took offence to that. And stabbed me a few times with those nasty twin blades on chains he’s using, then tossed me in the Styx.”  
  
Achilles straightened up. “Twin blades? On chains? Savagely shaped, and crudely jagged?” He sucked in a breath through his teeth when Zagreus nodded. “But… that infernal arm should be in your father’s armoury. And was, the last time I checked.”  
  
“Maybe he stole it?”  
  
“I… don’t know.” Achilles shook his head gravely. “I’ll need to check. Thank you for that, lad. But a word of advice. If this is the case, and this man can wield an infernal arm, he is likely no mere shade. Though perhaps you saw that already. Regardless, I suspect he has divine blood.”  
  
Zagreus sighed. “Wonderful. More relatives.”


	3. The Third Time

“The advantage to weapons like your long pointy spear is it keeps your enemies at the far end of it. And that’s further away from you, boyo.” That had been the advice that had been give to him by the talking skeleton who was apparently on payroll to stand around and be used as a target dummy. And Zagreus had taken his advice and so armed himself with the eternal spear Varatha, once wielded by his father when the old man was committing his own acts of patricide in his youth.  
  
Unfortunately it turned out that the Ghost of Sparta did not respect things such as ‘reach’ and ‘not throwing those vicious blades at you from spear-length’. Zagreus died with a blade the rough size of his thigh through his throat, and pulled himself out of the Styx in the House of Hades in a foul mood.  
  
“Wouldn’t you know, I have some cough drops around here somewhere-”  
  
“No thanks, Hypnos,” Zagreus snapped, marching back to his room. He was going out there and he was taking Coronacht the Heart-Seeking Bow and he was going to stand at the other side of whatever gods-forsaken room he stumbled across that psychopath in and he was going to ask him what his problem was!  
  
Naturally, this time he didn’t stumble into the madman and made his way to the looming frontage of the stygian chamber of the Furies. The spectral boatman Charon was there, with his usual assortment of overpriced wares and secrets born from the surface world. Like gems in the darkness, the boons of the gods gleamed with divine power, waiting for him to accept them.  
  
However, one thing above all else drew the eyes of the ravenous prince of the Underworld.  
  
“Gyros and fries… oh, wait, what meat is it?”  
  
“Chrr,” intoned the skull-faced figure.  
  
“You know, mate, since I started coming here, I always like it when you do chicken. Have you ever thought of lowering your prices? Fifty obols is midnight robbery when you’re only charging the dead one obol to cross the river.”  
  
“Hrrrr.”  
  
“It’s true, I do keep on paying your very-fair-and-not-at-all-rip-off prices. Though, what is a chicken? Still haven’t ever seen one.”  
  
“Hrrrrrrrr.”  
  
“Oh, sort of like a bat?” Zagreus said, paying him for the meal. He dug in. “Y’kno’,” he said with his mouth full, “no on’ e’er ‘ells you how ‘ungry dyin’ ma’es ‘ou.” He swallowed. “‘Specially when you keep on doing it. I think my last meal gets lost. Has the white-skinned angry asshole caused you any problems?”  
  
The purple light shining from Charon’s eyesockets intensified, and he exhaled a writhing, darkness-laden mist. “Chhhhhhhhh,” he said firmly.  
  
“I dunno. He might be dumb enough to try.”  
  
“Hrrrrr.”  
  
“Well, if you’re sure.” Zagreus blinked. “Also, wait. You sound like you know who he is.”  
  
“Hnnnnnnnn-hrrrrrr.”  
  
“Well, be like that. You never tell me anything. I bet you won’t even tell me which of them is waiting for me.” He nodded to the door behind which the Furies lurked.  
  
“Khhhhhhhhhrgh.”  
  
“Yeah, thought so.” Zagreus finished off his meal then stretched, bouncing on his toes. He checked his quiver, drawing an arrow which trailed pink light. “Aphrodite was nice enough to bless my bow this time. Do you think she ever gets cold?”  
  
“Hnrrrrrgh.”  
  
“Ah, I guess your paths don’t cross much.” He settled his shoulders. “I bet it's Alecto this time.”  
  
It was not. No, waiting for him was Megeara; pale, one-winged Megaera, First of the Furies who torment the sinners of Tartarus endlessly. Megaera of the thirsty whip, whose tongue with the same cruelty. Also, perhaps more pertinently, Zagreus’s ex.  
  
“Hmmph,” she said, husky voice soft from where she waited at the centre of this grand room, guarding the exit from Tartarus. “Haven’t seen you in a while. I even wondered if you’d realised you were never getting out.”  
  
“Ah, Meg, I didn’t realise you’d missed me this much. I do like our little play-dates.” And no, that wasn’t a lie. “No, there’s a new guy wandering around Tartarus. He’s really quite dangerous. Shouldn’t you put aside your attempts to stop me and go after him. The inmates shouldn’t be roaming around, killing the son of Hades. It’s bad for discipline.”  
  
She shook her hair out, running her hands over her savage whip and coiling it between her fingers. “Zagreus, if a mere shade can kill you, you’ll never get to the surface.”  
  
He’d show her. But while she was here… “Actually, given your job here, you might’ve heard of him. What do you know of a gentleman called the ‘Ghost of Sparta’, Meg?”  
  
She stiffened up, eyes narrowing, bright pink lips pursing. “That shade is bad news, Zagreus. Keep clear of him.”  
  
“Ah ha! So you do know about him!”  
  
“He’s someone who falls under the responsibilities of all three of us. And that’s all I’ll say on the topic.”  
  
“Huh.” Zagreus nodded, committing that to memory. “So he’s an oathbreaker, someone who commits crimes due to his passions - I bet it’s rage, he’s an angry man - and a murderer. Well, I think he deserves all three of you, and I wouldn’t want to get in the way of your important job, so I’ll just be going and-”  
  
“Do you really think that’ll work?”  
  
“I had to try, Meg.” He gave her his most winsome smile. “No hard feelings?”  
  
“Plenty.”  
  
But while chain-wielding psychopaths with a fondness for eye-gouging were a problem that Zagreus had not managed to find his way around, Megaera was. He left her bleeding body riddled with arrows as the Styx claimed her. From there, he proceeded forth into burning Asphodel and conquered it, venturing up into Elysium where he met his demise to a surprising number of bright pink soul-eating butterflies.  
  
But on the plus side, at least he hadn’t seen any ashen-skinned madmen this time _and_ he’d also managed to plunder enough wealth from his father’s domain to be able to afford those towels.


	4. For Once It's Not Zagreus Who Dies

This is the order of the underworld; the most wretched and wicked are condemned to Tartarus, the main part of mankind find themselves in Asphodel which now might be considered an unjust punishment since it was flooded with fire, and the greatest specimens of humanity live in bliss in Elysium. It is a mystery of the gods why that involves being a floating eyeball, but all men know that Lord Hades has his reasons.  
  
For his part, Prince Zagreus had not managed to run into the very angry and murderous Ghost of Sparta in quite a while. Perhaps the ever-shifting chambers of Tartarus had trapped him within a maze, or perhaps he had been worn down by the endlessly arriving denizens of the darkest pits and subjected to some ironic punishment. The man clearly had issues. Maybe he’d be able to burn off some of that anger after a few centuries. Honestly, being angry for so long sounded exhausting. Zagreus tried to avoid it.  
  
Unfortunately, his repeated attempts to get through blessed Elysium was stirring no small ire in him. Well, no. It was Theseus. It was entirely Theseus. Theseus and his popinjay attitude and the way he kept on calling Zagreus a ‘blackguard’ and, of course, the way that tanned _bastard_ kept on throwing spears at him when he was trying to have a civilised one-on-one fight with Asterius.  
  
“I have no idea what Asterius sees in him,” Zagreus groaned, rubbing his back where the spear had run him through. The bull-man was a wonderful example of the fact that one should not judge people by their appearance. But then again Theseus should entirely be judged for his.   
  
Feeling stiff, he ambled over to the newly added pile of towels and dried his face. See! Look at him, being a productive grown-up! Taking steps to advance the House of Hades, which he wasn’t even going to stay in! Doing more than his obol-hoarding father who was sitting on all this wealth and hadn’t even paid the pittance to fix up the longue from all the damage Cerberus did. That tight-fisted old man!  
  
“Is something wrong?” Hypnos asked, as he passed him. “You look out of sorts. Oh! I know what it is! Says here you got killed by the Champion of Elysium again, so it must be you just realised that you forgot to get me an autograph! Don’t worry, though! I forgive you! And-” He trailed off. “Huh, someone’s coming through. I can’t believe you managed to die while standing right here in front of me!”  
  
“I’m not dead.”  
  
“Yes, but it’s always you, these days! Well, you, or the Fury Sisters, or…”  
  
“Murderer!” snapped the new arrival.  
  
“Eeep!” Hypnos shrank back into his robes.  
  
Corpse-like Tisiphone, sister to deathless Megaera, pulled herself from the bloody waters. Her single violet wing hung behind her, coiled in agitation. Red sluiced from her sickly green garb.  
  
Zagreus passed her a towel. “Oh, Tisiphone,” he said. “How lovely to see you. We normally only see each other out in Tartarus. And you know how these things go. You kill me, I kill you, rinse and repeat.”  
  
Tisiphone took the towel and blotted off her face. “Zah-gree-us,” she said by way of thanks.  
  
“You do know it wasn’t me that killed you this time. Which does kind of leave me wondering who did it.”  
  
“Murderer,” she explained.  
  
“By any chance was it a very angry man with white skin, Tisiphone? With chains?”  
  
“Mmmmurder! Murderer!” she agreed emphatically.  
  
“Yeah, I don’t like him much either. So he’s gotten past you. And is heading up into Asphodel?”  
  
“Muuurderer,” Tisiphone said morosely.  
  
“Yes, my father probably won’t be very pleased.” Zagreus paused, and considered it. “Though he’s not pleased when I get past you either, so it probably won’t be that bad. Or at least as bad as you fear”  
  
“Zhaaaaaagreus,” Tisiphone said, shaking her head. Those strange eyes - so unlike her sisters - locked on him. “Murderer! Murder mmmmurder!” She jabbed a finger upwards. “Murderer!”  
  
“I didn’t murder anyone, Tisiphone. Please, understand that.”  
  
She shook her head and stomped her foot. “Murderer!”  
  
“You’re saying he’s a murderer? He murder murder murder a lot?”  
  
“Murderer!” she agreed.  
  
“And now he’s loose in Asphodel.” Zagreus winced, sucking in air between his teeth. “Well, you have orders to not hang around the House, Tisiphone, so you should probably make yourself scarce. I’ll mention it to my father.”  
  
“Zagreuuuuuus,” she said, handing him back the towel, before striding off. Zagreus shook his head, handing the towels off to the spectral attendant. And then he went to speak to his father.  
  
“Oh look, everyone, he’s back once again,” the old man announced, barely looking up from his work.  
  
“Yes, I had a nice little walk to Elysium. Got to see some greenery, stretch my legs. It really does wonders for my mood. You should try it someday. Maybe it would help yours.”  
  
“What would help my mood, _boy_ , is if I didn’t have my one and only son running around my domain, plundering and thieving to his heart’s content.”  
  
“Oh, goodness, father. I had thought that it was the walk and the greenery that helped my mood, but you know, it could have been the plundering. Maybe you should try that too.” Zagreus realised he was probably getting off topic. “I just saw Tisiphone. She got killed by someone who wasn’t me.”  
  
“Well, the Furies are clearly getting soft, to lose to you as often as they do.” Hades flipped over his paperwork. “Maybe you could prove me wrong by letting Alecto cut your head off.”  
  
“Father. Who is the Ghost of Sparta?”  
  
Because he was looking for it, Zagreus saw the tenseness in his father’s shoulders, heard the drawing in of breath, felt the temperature drop a few degrees. “Look at this. The boy is interested once more in the affairs of his father’s kingdom. He is none of your concern.”  
  
“He’s killed me three times, you know.”  
  
“As per Hypnos’s reports, he is therefore still less lethal than spikes on the floor.”  
  
“Father. He beat Tisiphone. He’s loose in Asphodel.”  
  
Hades let out a long sigh. “He is another one of your uncle’s by-blows. He is a murderer, an oath-breaker, and a man blinded by foolish rage. His place is in Tartarus. If you can send him back to the prison for wretched souls such as himself, I will see you get the bounty. Is that what you want? Can you cease your endless yammering and leave me to work?”  
  
“My unc-” Zagreus cut himself off. “Fine. You don’t want to talk about it. Fine. You’re probably not even going to clarify which uncle, but I don’t need you to tell me. I’ll find it out myself.”  
  
“And no doubt you will die repeatedly doing so.” Hades dipped his quill in the inkpot. “Still, dying in futility against an escaped prisoner is a more productive use of your time than dying in futility trying to escape yourself. Don’t let me detain you.”  
  
“I-” Breathe. “I’ll beat him! And I’ll prove you wrong!”  
  
Well, he’d had _worse_ conversations with his father.


	5. The Fourth Time

In burning Asphodel, the Underworld’s prince fought the osseous dead. The eternal spear Varatha danced, son wielding the weapon his father had wielded against his own primordial sire. There, he swept the legs under a shambling long-dead warrior and caved its skull as it lay there prone; here, he cast the long spear out to impale a witch against the wall. As she melted back into the substance of the Underworld, he threw out his hand and the spear returned to him, smashing through a heretical alchemist who stood between him.

Let it not be said that the melodramatic prince was without a certain sense of flair, and so he turned around just as the undead alchemist’s explosives detonated in a most satisfying smoky explosion.

Of course, the fact that he had once again put his desire to draw attention to himself ahead of his own safety was not unexpected, but there remained other foes within the area who made a valiant effort to send him back to the none-too-welcoming arms of his father. But the prince had learned the art of the spear from Achilles himself and Athena had blessed his fleet-footed speed, and so he fought his way past the dead with only a few scrapes.

“Whew,” Zagreus said to himself, leaning on his spear as he got his breath back. “You know, I wonder why those burn-flingers don’t have their bombs cook off when they’re running around and jumping over the magma and other things like that. I mean, they’re clearly volatile.” He rubbed a burn on his arm, looking around. “Should be any… moment… now…” He had been waiting for the God of War to show himself for a while.

In the orange glow of the fires of the river Phlegethon, something gleamed redder yet. Not red like the fires of this once-fertile land, but the red of freshly spilled arterial blood. The pillar of light fell down from the ceiling like a waterfall of the Styx, coalescing as it did. And in the light stood the figure of a man. His skin, a similar tone to his half-sister Athena; his hair bone white; his armour bronze and his tattered cape calling to mind the feathers of a carrion-bird feeding upon the dead. Ares’s coldly handsome features did not quite look upon his cousin Zagreus, but his expression was pleasantly genial.

“Ah, my kin. It is quite fitting that these men were slain first under my auspices, and slain a second time by your hand. And I sense that Varatha is once again in your hand. A fate much better than these lesser warriors deserve! They no more deserve your father’s spear than they deserved Elysium! And yet you bring death to them once more! Such savagery is something that can draw my eye through even the interminable darkness of this realm.”

“Lord Ares,” Zagreus called out. “Can you hear me?” He never was quite sure how aware the Olympian gods were of his presence when they visited him. Night-goddess Nyx’s power veiled the whole underworld from the higher gods, and though she aided him there were certain restrictions laid upon her by both her nature and her arrangement with his father.

“Varatha shed the blood of the titans; this time, I am sure you will reach Elysium and pit yourself against the greatest of heroes. It is for glory they meet their ends on my battlefields. A heroic death for such a man is the most fitting of rewards, for it buys him passage to Elysium.”

“Lord Ares? I’m sorry, but I do have a question. Have you ever heard of a man called the Ghost of Sparta? He seems very angry about... no, apparently this isn’t one of the times,” Zagreus sighed. “Well, if you can hear me, I wouldn’t mind knowing why a man known as the Ghost of Sparta tried to viciously murder me when he saw I’d been blessed by you. Feel free to, you know, reply any time if you can hear this. If you feel like it, of course, Lord Ares,” he added a little hastily.

“But you, you, my kin, will exceed them all,” Ares said, showing no sign that he could hear Zagreus’s word. “And to that end, I will hone your will into a killing weapon. For any man can pick up a sword or a spear, but it is the urge to kill that makes a warrior.”

The blood-red light expanded, and washed over Zagreus, collapsing down into him. His shoulders tensed and he could hear his heart hammering in his ears; he could taste copper in his mouth. Sweat beaded on his brow, and each breath felt peculiarly sharp. Without thinking, he lashed out and drove Varatha deep into a pile of gilded skulls. The sound as it collapsed was very satisfying.

“Blood and darkness!” he muttered, calling his spear back to his hand. “The war-god’s rage is like a kick in the teeth.”

“Kill, until nothing stands in your way,” Ares said, voice soft as his image faded and the red light died. “Kill until you are free of that hell.”

That sounded like very good advice right now, but Zagreus paused for a moment, just breathing. Speaking as an expert at dying, he really didn’t wish to rush into things too much. Rushing into things in burning Asphodel led one to misjudge a leap and land in magma, and that was bad for his feet. And as Achilles - a man who knew a thing or two about rage leading one into foolish situations - had taught him, anger was a hound best kept on a tight leash and not allowed to run wild and smash up the lounge. Not that he was naming one good boy who could also be very naughty.

Only when he felt he was in control and wasn’t going to let Ares’s blessing do the thinking for him did he head on. There was a new feral strength to how the Underworld’s prince fought the servants of his father, and he ascended through Asphodel breaking skulls and crushing ribs as he went. One might have thought he was unstoppable, right until he ran into an ashen-skinned homicidal maniac who wrapped the chains of his weapon around his ankles, slammed him around for a bit, and then held his head under the lava. That stopped him.

“You know,” Zagreus said, pulling himself from the Styx, “no one ever tells you how bad magma tastes. It burns, but it also tastes like rotten eggs.”

“Hmm. Next time, try holding your breath!”

“Thank you, Hypnos. I’ll consider it.” Zagreus sighed. “Well, at least he hasn’t gotten out of Asphodel yet.”


	6. The Fifth Time

Life as the prince of the Underworld was not easy, and neither was death. And his father’s acerbic comments after he was yet again stabbed repeatedly by an ashen-skinned maniac were just part of the burden self-pitying Zagreus bore.

“Oh, look, Cerberus, he’s back. What do you think of that?”

The hound of hell cocked his heads, looking from father to son, but since neither were holding any treats his attentions were limited.

“Yes, I see you’re bored of his endless coming and goings too. Have you ever thought of not boring Cerberus, boy?”

“So, he’s still in Asphodel, but he’s getting near the upper reaches,” Zagreus informed his father. “And let’s be honest here, the bone hydra won’t stand a chance against him. It doesn’t stand a chance against me these days, and that shade keeps on killing me.”

“What is your point, boy? Have you decided to put aside your nonsense and pay attention to your obligations to this realm?”

Not likely, Zagreus thought. He was getting the hell out of hell, or… whatever you got when trying to escape the Underworld. “My point is this is a dangerous escapee.”

“Ah. Unlike you.”

“I’ve said my thing,” Zagreus retorted, giving up and marched off. Just to make himself feel better, he sought out the House’s contractor - an inhumanly tall, ever-shrouded shade in a strange yellow helm - and bought himself a set of complicated board games with the gems he had plundered from his father’s realm. Then he realised he had no one here who actually wanted to play them. Unless…

“Hey, Dusa, do you-”

The floating gorgon’s head who cleaned the House let out a squeak and vanished up into the rafters.

“... guess not. That was my mistake, coming up on you from behind without warning.” He cupped his hands around his mouth. “Sorry!” he called up after her.

All his objectives in the House of Hades having ended in failure, Prince Zagreus therefore headed straight through to the courtyard of the House, took up the shield of all-birthing Chaos, and leapt out the window to try to escape once more. Up through Tartarus he climbed, blessed by sanguine Aphrodite and potent Zeus, and with their borrowed prowess he smote down Tisiphone the Fury, who had much to inaccurately say about murder and his proclivities therein.

Still, the cunning prince had a plan, and so he hoarded the coin of the dead that he found along the way, secreting it away within the divine coinpurse he had been given by Hypnos. Actually, strictly speaking, he had devised two plans, but after trying to talk to Lord Zeus and not being heard, he had given up on the idea of asking his uncle about the ghost of Sparta with no small relief. The king of the Olympian gods was normally magnanimous and genial, but Zagreus had seen his temper when he had chosen Aphrodite over him when the two had demanded he pick the gifts of one of them, and he did not want Zeus’s ire.

Well, if he could avoid it. He’d still pick Aphrodite over Zeus any day, because if there was one Olympian deity you didn’t want irked at you, it was her. Over the time of their association, Zagreus had studied the ways of Aphrodite, and come to the conclusion that love on the surface was about getting into the thick of things, and swinging with everything you had while taking your lumps and bruises from your sparring partner. Really, it was reassuring to know how some things didn’t change between the two realms. Just like dating Megaera, really.

The osseous remains of the Lernean bone-hydra fell before the romantically ill-advised prince, and so he sauntered with father-insulting insolence through the verdant pastures of Elysium. Right until the hallowed dead of this place tried to kill him, of course, and the heroes of older days did a rather better job than the fleshless bones of those imprisoned in Tartarus.

“You know, just putting it out there, but have you ever tried throwing your shield?” Zagreus asked of the last champion remaining in this chamber, circling the man who looked barely older than him. Zagreus’s shoulder was aching and his shin bleeding from this man and his stupid blocking-everything-tricks. “Shield buddies, yeah?”

“Cease your blather! Show some respect to the arts of war!”

“Your highness,” Zagreus pointed out.

“What?”

“Show some respect, your highness. I am prince of the Underworld, you know.”

“Hey, now now now. I don’t need to respect you when I follow your father’s-” and that was about all the deceased hero could manage to say, because cunning Zagreus had only been trying to distract him and beaned him in the face with his shield. Thunder fell from the sky and electrocuted the warrior. And then Zagreus was on him, and it was all over bar the repeated beating with a shield of primordial power blessed by the goddess of love.

The champion’s body came apart, and his soul coalesced in the form of a floating eyeball. “Fuck! This is just like dealing with fucking Odysseus again,” the eyeball said, despite its self-evident lack of a mouth.

“Oh, don’t feel so down on yourself, mate. I’m sure you can get back to pointlessly fighting other people to the death when you reincorporate. Or whatever you do when I pass through. Actually, I’ve never asked you lot what happens after I die up here.” Zagreus snapped his fingers. “That was it! Ever heard of a man called the Ghost of Sparta?”

“I am a Spartan! In life, one of the men who followed our glorious king Meneleus to Troy to undo the wrong-doing of the treacherous queen-stealing Trojans!”

“So…” Zagreus left the sentence hanging.

“I know of no man with that epitaph.”

“Yeah, thought not. I’ve been asking around in Elysium, but from what I can tell, he seems to post-date most of you lot. Oh well. And by the way, don’t think I didn’t see you sidling over to try to take up your weapons again.”

“... don’t you want another fight?” the eyeball asked tenatively.

“Oh sure, yes, go ahead.”

“Why thank-”

“No.” And fertile Chaos’s shield lashed out again, and Zeus’s lightning fell from the sky and ended him.

Working out his shoulder, Zagreus entertained himself by smashing open one of his father’s treasure chests and plundering the good gold for himself, as he was wont to do. Not-too-distant flute music drifted out over Elysian glades and he took the moment to relax for a moment. His policy of killing all the heroes save one, and trying to talk to them wasn’t working out. He’d even tried asking the witches who worshipped the Chthonic gods in life and so had been let into Elysium when they really shouldn’t have been. They’d just tried to hex him, except for one. She’d tried to stab him. Well, okay, she’d stabbed him. That had hurt.

No one seemed to know who the Ghost of Sparta was. So that meant that he post-dated all the spirits in this place. Or pre-dated them. Or the people he’d murdered didn’t wind up in Elysium. Or he just hadn’t found them because Elysium was a big place.

Not too useful, really, he thought, tapping his foot along to the flute. Oh well. Back to plan A.

The prince made his way to the grand fighting arena that barred the way out of Elysium, where the hero-

“Jackass.”

-the hero Theseus and the Bull of Minos stood, breaking all who tried to leave the realm of the hallowed dead. But before the grand arena Charon waited beside the Lethe, hawking his as-usual overpriced wares.

“Hey, mate. Fancy seeing you here.”

“Ghhhhhhhhh,” Charon said.

“Well, just out for a walk, you know how it is.” Zagreus felt his coinpurse, eyes widening in mock shock. “Well, would you look at this. I just happen to have a lot of money here. And here you are, someone who likes money. I mean, really likes money.”

Charon did not reply, but only stared at him with darkness-filled sockets, clearly expecting the prince to give up the charade and get on with things.

“So, mate, here’s the thing. I can’t get the Elysian spirits to tell me anything about the Ghost of Sparta. And thinking of the people who can go out and ask questions, well, it’s you or Thanatos, and your brother is kind of still not exactly pleased with me for trying to escape. Also, he comes for the people who die peaceful deaths, which is - working from my experience here - people who aren’t going to be spending any time around that very, very angry man. So I was thinking I’d give you… oh, the contents of this coinpurse, which at last counting was over eight hundred shiny obols. And in return, you’d go and use your shady - heh, shade-y - contacts and find what you can about him for me. Maybe even some of the gods might help out. Athena, maybe, because I’m looking for knowledge. Or Hermes. He’d be a good way to get the info to me, right?”

“Kkkkkh,” Charon said, his tone somewhat dubious.

“I’ll throw in these two bottles of nectar,” Zagreus offered.

That got a nod from the ferryman of the dead. “Ghhh-hhhhhhhk,” he agreed.

The loss of so much money to no immediate benefit was not something the Underworld’s prince was exactly happy about, but the prince had always taken a rather easy-come-easy-go approach to matters. In truth, he was rather proud of himself having reached this far with spending almost nothing in Charon’s shop - save for a snack mid-way through Asphodel, for his stomach had been rumbling. He handed over the payment to the boatman, where it vanished into his voluminous robes.

“Pleasure doing business with you, mate,” Zagrues said. “Now, I’m off to fight Asterius and the walking embodiment of Asterius’s bad taste in men, I’ll be seeing you soon.”

And perhaps Zagreus had some minor gift of prophecy, for he received a spear to the back when he was busy trying to have a gentlemanly duel with a giant bullman, and died cursing Theseus and his cheap-ass spear-sniping bullshit ways.


End file.
